


Comfort Found in Quiet Spaces

by calicotales



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Batdad, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9802376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicotales/pseuds/calicotales
Summary: Bruce most often sleeps alone - except for when he doesn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because the world needs more Batdad

"Bruce?" 

 

Being home for less than an hour, he'd been dozing when the door cracks open just enough for a head to peek through. 

 

Bruce turns to his side, eyeing the boy who's trying so hard to hold on to the illusion that his world hasn't ended. 

 

"Dick," he says, faking sleep-rough voice because Dick doesn't know yet, doesn't need to know where he's been all night. "What's wrong?"

 

"I - I," Dick stutters, pauses as he tries to hold himself like a broken cup with the shattered pieces poorly glued together. Bruce feels the pang in his chest, the one that he once felt staring at broken pearls. And Bruce can remember the pang and how it told him _help this kid, this lonely kid because you can help him – he won't have to be like you_ when he stared at a boy in a circus tent looking at two people just as broken as those pearls. 

 

He's not so good with words, awkward with saying the right things at the right time when they all sound like platitudes to him. But he can offer a safe place, a home, and a chance. He can do that at least. 

 

He holds out his hand, palm up. 

 

Dick runs in, the door swinging open in a near slam, and hurls himself into Bruce's arms. Bruce sits up, lets Dick sob into his shirt, arms wrapped around him like he remembers his mother doing to him. He hopes it’s a comfort.

 

And when Dick finally cries himself to sleep, his breath calming in a way that contradicted him moments prior, Bruce carefully lays them back together so that Dick rests against him, his ear over Bruce's heart and Bruce's arm over him. The blankets come over them with careful precision using Bruce's free hand. 

 

He hopes that Dick will find comfort in listening to a beating heart while wrapped in warmth. He hopes it's enough. 

 

He prays he's enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jason seems so self-assured that Bruce can see right through him. Because Jason used to be so much more visibly wary and cautious of being in the manor that the eventual self-assured demeanor he gives off feels plastic. It's been long enough that Bruce hopes that Jason's gotten comfortable being here, that he's not worried any longer that Bruce will one day decide to toss him out, but he can never be sure. Jason hoards food, sometimes, holes himself up every now and again in his room and doesn't come out much except to patrol. But then some days Jason will sit in the library with Bruce and read a new book or grumble through homework or talk about what he learned in school that day. 

 

Bruce knows to be patient, but he wonders if Jason will ever fully accept his home here. 

 

And even more so, Jason is still a boy. One who’s traumatized and missing his mother despite not saying a thing, and Bruce aches to give some kind of comfort to Jason, something that says _I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here, you won't lose me too._

 

(and yet he can't, because two days ago Two-Face shot him in the shoulder, right between the plates of the suit, and there are no guarantees in this world - only false promises)

 

But, Jason surprises him the night his door opens so quietly Bruce might not have noticed if he weren't already awake from the pulsating pain in his shoulder. 

 

"B?" The voice is soft, a hint of hopeful, but not loud enough to have woken him if he were truly asleep. 

 

"Jason," He murmurs, turns his head because it would hurt to turn onto his side, and asks, "You okay?"

 

Jason startles as if surprised, like he's not the one who opened Bruce's door in the middle of the night. He steps in after a moment, but leaves the door as is. Escape route, Bruce’s mind tiredly supplies.

 

"Just wanted to check in," Jason says. He fidgets, looking at Bruce and then away, as if embarrassed. "'M fine," He adds. "I'm gonna go back to bed."

 

Bruce can read it in the way Jason hesitates a moment before he pivots and says, "C'mere."

 

Jason looks back, fake skepticism on his face but hope in his eyes and _god_ Bruce aches for this boy's happiness. "Why?" 

 

"Humor me," Bruce says. Jason pauses, then nudges the door closed. He walks around the bed, climbing up next to Bruce. Bruce slowly, giving Jason a chance to change his mind, reaches out and gently pulls him down next to him. 

 

Jason resists for all of half a second before he gets on the bed obligingly and though it's dark, Bruce can see the pink high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

 

Jason's careful as he lays next to Bruce, even knew prior to get on that particular side so he could lay down without pressing on Bruce's injury. He lays his head down Bruce's shoulder, cautiously tucked up against him. Bruce presses his mouth against Jason's hair, overcome with the urge to protect this boy from everything that could hurt him. 

 

Jason falls asleep as Bruce finally relaxes, his shoulder a distant pain in his mind. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tim is so different from his first two boys. 

 

Tim is quiet, reserved, and awkward. He's unsure of his place in Bruce's home. Tim has a family, a home that's not the manor. He has a guest room sparsely used when his parents are gone, but it has no personal belongings. 

 

Bruce wonders if Tim feels like a ghost here, or a shadow, following in the steps of two boys who used to run around these halls, brightening them in their own ways. 

 

(Dick visits sometimes. He'll ruffle Tim's hair, help him train, do all the things he feels guilty for after not doing them with Jason. Jason - Jason. Bruce puts flowers on his grave every few weeks, taking over after one too many pointed looks from Alfred. Alfred visits weekly to maintain the grave. Tim went with Bruce once, wanting to know more about his predecessor. Bruce has no idea if Dick visits the brother he never really got to know.)

 

But, Tim is also confident - in costume at least. Confident and intelligent. So, so intelligent both in and out of the mask. So intelligent but Bruce knows Tim also stays up all night some days, going off nothing but energy drinks and coffee. Tim is intelligent in all the ways that don’t include his own wellbeing.

 

He's caught Tim more than once asleep in the batcave, surrounded by case files at a table or curled up in Bruce's computer chair. Once or twice at the kitchen table as Alfred prepped a meal. Once, strangely, curled up in Dick’s room, and Bruce had thought for a guilty moment that he’d gone back in time.

 

So, when Bruce enters his room ready to head to bed after patrol, finding Tim curled up in his bed is barely surprising. 

 

He's been tense from a rough night but seeing Tim curled up in the middle of his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, breathing gentle and even makes Bruce soften - that protectiveness he gets around all his Robins rising in him. 

 

(Jack Drake's coma is taking a toll.) 

 

Bruce pads to the bed. Placing his hand on Tim's shoulder, he lightly shakes the boy. Because while he'd like to sleep, he needs a bit more room in the bed. Tim had planted himself right in the middle.

 

"Tim," he whispers, "move over a bit." Tim's face scrunches up before his bleary eyes crack open. Bruce can visibly see Tim process Bruce in front of him and how his face flushes red right up to his ears. Embarrassed. Bruce resists the urge to smile. 

 

"Sorry," Tim mumbles, shifting to get up. 

 

"No need to apologize," Bruce says. He keeps his hand on Tim's shoulder, gently nudging him back. Tim goes easily, half-asleep. 

 

"How was patrol?" Tim asks quietly. 

 

"The usual." The way Tim smiles a bit lets Bruce know he sees right through him. "Go back to sleep, Tim."

 

Tim nods sleepily and curls close to Bruce when he slides under the covers. He's asleep within minutes. 

 

Tim's not his son, but Bruce loves him like one all the same. 

 

(Things will happen and time will pass, and one night Tim Drake-Wayne will crawl into Bruce’s bed after a funeral as a fellow orphan, and Bruce will wonder if saying no to Tim as Robin so long ago would’ve spared his son the pain.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cass is similar to Bruce in that they don't often put words together well. In general for her, not when it counts for him. She's silence and grace ( _she'll punch you in the face,_ his mind automatically supplies and g _oddamnit Jason, thanks for that._ )

 

Cass is good at understanding. Him, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian. Barbara and Stephanie as well. She reads them all, but Bruce isn't always sure they can read her back. She doesn't seem to mind. 

 

Bruce goes to sleep like a normal person one night, no patrol because he was bullied into a night off by all of his children, even Jason, because of a cold he doesn't have but they think he does (A cough is not a cold, no matter what Tim and Alfred say).  Dick's donning the cowl tonight for him despite his hatred of it. Bruce needs to thank him again soon. Somehow. 

 

So, Bruce sleeps, catching up on all the sleep he hasn't gotten lately. 

 

It's not a deep sleep, but it's deep enough he doesn't feel a presence at first. He nearly tenses, but a familiar hand rests on his chest; he exhales.

 

"Cassandra," he murmurs, opening one eye to look at her. She's next to him, close but not completely touching. 

 

She smiles. "Sleep. Keep an eye out."

 

Bruce sighs internally at the thought that his children don't think he'd stay in bed for one night. Cass' fingers drum a beat on his chest and Bruce breathes deep. 

 

"Good night, Cassandra."

 

She taps out _good night_ in Morse code on his chest. Bruce’s children never cease to amaze him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Damian is so much different than his brothers and sister. Bruce doesn't know what to do for him, how to help Damian along the right path. Because Damian gets along with Dick better, looks up to him more. Being lost in time didn't help. 

 

Bruce is his father, but he often doesn't feel like it. 

 

Therefore, Damian trying to sneak into Bruce's room actually surprises him. 

 

"Damian?" Bruce asks, voice rough and tired. He pushes himself up as Damian locks up and looks away. 

 

"Father."

 

"Everything alright?"

 

"Yes," Damian answers, but it's too quick. Bruce frowns. Damian shifts. 

 

"Damian."

 

"It is stupid. I - I will go. Good night, Father."

 

Bruce frowns deeper. Damian's stiff as he turns around. 

 

"Damian, come here, please." Damian stops short and jerks around. He speed walks to the bed, perfunctory, and refuses to look at Bruce. Bruce reaches out, placing his hand on Damian's shoulder. Ducking his head to meet Damian's eyes, he says, "You can tell me. It's okay."

 

Damian's mouth slants. "I read that human contact is good for emotional needs after something particularly traumatizing or distressing." 

 

Read something about - Oh. _Oh_. 

 

Bruce feels a surge of warmth at Damian's odd wording, the faint pink in his face, and how Damian is coming to him for something like this. It hurts, a bit, that it took something like this for Damian to come to him, but he’s here now.

 

Bruce shifts over silently, offers his hand, and bites back the tempting smile when Damian tentatively grabs it. Bruce tugs him into the bed, pulls him close, and Damian's tense - unsure - but he faces Bruce when they lay back against the pillows. Damian's hand is curled into a loose fist on Bruce's sternum, and he avoids Bruce's eyes. 

 

Bruce curls an arm around his youngest son, wishing that it wasn't this way - that Damian didn't so often rely on himself alone. That Damian could come to him if he needed something - wanted something – at any time and not just the hours before dawn. 

 

Damian eventually relaxes enough to sleep, and Bruce stays awake for a bit longer, wondering how he can make things between them better. 

 

(When he wakes in the morning, Titus and Alfred - the cat, thank everything - have managed to curl up in the bed as well. Bruce doesn't even bother questioning it.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce doesn't often become bed-ridden anymore. He's getting older yes, but having others on patrol with him does make him less likely to be injured, at least majorly. Having his family around makes it so he has to do less alone.

 

So it figures that he becomes injured on a JL mission. He blames Clark. 

 

It's nothing too bad, by his standards, but Alfred keeps sending him pointed looks and his children keep making a lot of passive-aggressive comments. Jason just made unapologetic statements. 

 

(Three broken ribs and a few minor fractures isn't _that bad_.)

 

He hates being cooped up like this, and Alfred has given him a strictly enforced time limit of how much he can work or move around the manor. 

 

So really he sleeps a lot. He's on a bit of pain medication, and he's often too tired and in pain to do much else even if he wants to. 

 

But there's something strange going on. With his kids, specifically. 

 

They're visiting. A lot. 

 

And no, he's not ungrateful. He always feels better seeing his kids well and healthy. But at least one of them is always there in the bed with him when he wakes, and he's always deep asleep when they come in so he never catches them. Sneaky kids. He’s kind of proud of how well he’s taught them.

 

Dick has Netflix open on his laptop. Jason reads books. Tim does WE work. Cass naps. Damian meditates. Stephanie, though her visits are rare, listens to music. Barbara is usually doing case work on her computer. Duke often sits nearby, working on something.

 

Bruce is mildly confused but pleased by their presence nonetheless. If the amused smile on Alfred's face is anything to go by, he's not hiding it very well. 

 

Though the real kicker is one night Bruce wakes up briefly to all of them in his room. The fit on the bed is clearly tight, but none of them seem to mind. Damian and Cass are the closest, nearly touching Bruce without actually jarring his injuries. Dick is framing the edges, being the biggest on the bed, arm over Tim. Jason has pulled up a wingback chair, legs propped on the covers – nearby but still distant enough to keep to his comfort level. Stephanie is curled up against Cass and Barbara is next to Damian. Duke is sitting on the floor, head resting against the bed, and arm reaching out to the others. Titus and Alfred (the cat, again, thankfully) are curled up at the foot of the bed. 

 

Bruce lets himself smile, just this once.

 

(Clark is still on his shit list though.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna do another with actual sections for Babs, Steph, and Duke once I get a better grasp on their character :)
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://torii-storii.tumblr.com/)


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